Close Quarters
by Anya2
Summary: It won't be so bad being stuck on a submarine with the Doctor for two weeks, right? After all, Clara finds him suddenly all affectionate and attentive which she very much approves of. Only things don't stay that way and the longer they're stuck down there, the more confusing he becomes. Just what is going on in his head?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Started working on something big and dramatic (and shippy) and found this in my writing folder half started after Cold War. Decided that there needed to be more of these two stuck on the sub and so now it's a three part unashamed ship fic of fluff, angst, drama and surprise kisses. Enjoy the first bit!**

* * *

So what was worse - nearly being blown up on a submarine or spending two weeks with a trapped, bored and increasingly tetchy Time Lord? Clara suspected it was going to be a very close run thing.

The first couple of days weren't actually too bad. The Doctor, of course, had thrown himself into submarine repairs which seemed to both delight and infuriate him - he could be heard alternatively muttering about 'stupid primitive technology' and then revelling in how the human designers got round the limitations they'd faced. 'Ingeniously resourceful' he'd declared it which seemed to please the engineers on board. The pumps were made the first priority because none of them liked wading around in a foot of water and the sub was limited to surface speeds until it was fully watertight again. It took a day to clear everything and then Clara, who'd admittedly grown somewhat bored of watching the Doctor work, offered to join the clean up crew. Perhaps if it was any other woman aboard his vessel the Captain may have declined but he considered it only for a moment before nodding with thanks. It was hard not to respect someone who'd voluntarily tried to reason with a monster twice her size.

The Doctor took her to one side before she left, hand resting lightly on her arm, voice quiet and low.

"Leave the bodies to the crew," he insisted, looking at her very pointedly as though he wanted no argument.

He wasn't going to get one. Clara had no intention of going back to that particular part of the ship again. Or was it boat? She could never remember.

"I'm just going to help them mop out some of the corridors," she assured.

He smiled, touching her cheek a moment. Then, looking up, he glanced round at the crew and a sudden uncertainty came to his face. "And stay with the professor, okay?"

It took Clara a moment to figure out what he was implying.

"They're not going to try anything," she tried to placate. It was silly in her opinion; not one of those men had ever even looked at her.

The Doctor's expression was dark. "Men trapped in a can for months at a time can start to think that very bad things are a very good idea."

Okay, so his concern was rather sweet in some ways but that didn't make it any more warranted.

"Actually I heard some of them talking earlier," she revealed with a lopsided grin. "They seem to think I'm your wife. Considering they've seen you taking on a seven foot Martian…well, I don't think they're going to be messing with me."

His eyebrows shot up towards his hairline. "My…Why do they think that?"

She wasn't sure whether to be offended that he looked so worried or not.

"Dunno. Kind of just let them carry on thinking it to be honest. Want me to go tell them the truth?" She went to leave but he grabbed her arm.

"Clara," she sighed in pained exasperation, concern for her overriding any school boyish waves of embarrassment. "Just stay with the professor. Please?"

Clara still thought he was being a bit melodramatic but for the sake of his worried scowl, she nodded. Besides, he was at least right in that they didn't know a thing about any of these men outside of the Captain and the professor. Best to stick with those that seemed trustworthy just in case.

"Aye aye, sir," she agreed gently, humouring him, adding a small salute to try and wipe that worried expression from his face.

"Russians don't say that," he pointed out.

"You can teach me the lingo later," she grinned, leaning up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

* * *

They'd been given the first mate's tiny cabin to share, the Captain saying that she shouldn't be bunking in with the men and the Doctor wanting to stay with her. They'd also agreed between them that it was best to let the men carrying on thinking that Clara was his wife. Clara wondered what would suffocate her first; the claustrophobic nature of the submarine or their combined fussing.

The cabin really wasn't designed for two; a small bunk - Clara would fit but it'd be a squash for the Doctor - a single cupboard and a tiny shower cubicle which was little more than a metal alcove in the wall with a white plastic curtain covering it. Grey, metal, basic and frankly miserable looking.

"Oh, Doctor, you do take me to all the good places," Clara muttered to herself - he was off repairing something - as she sat down on the edge of the bed and took an unhappy glance around the room. She doubted this would be her most fondly remembered adventure with the Doctor.

At least when he joined her a short time later he brought her tea. In a battered metal mug but it tasted wonderful nonetheless. She remembered her mum saying once that no one made a proper cup of tea like the armed forces. Clara hadn't asked how she knew that.

"I've radioed ahead," the Doctor told her as he sat beside her. "The Captain's taking us to a Russian docking station in the Antarctic. Then from there we get driven to an airstrip, fly to the base near the north pole and pick up the TARDIS."

Apparently it was that simple.

"What are we going to do?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. "Get off at the base and ask if anyone's seen a big blue box?"

He rolled his eyes as though he thought his brilliant plan was in fact obvious. "They know we're coming. Some members of UNIT work there. They'll keep the TARDIS safe until we arrive."

"UNIT?"

"Old friends of mine."

Clara nodded, not questioning that. When you were a thousand years old you were bound to make a few acquaintances.

"In the meantime, how's this going to work?" When he looked blank, she indicated around the cabin.

"Ah," he said, rubbing the back of his head in the way he did when he was uncomfortable. It made his hair stick out in daft ways. "Well you can have the bunk, of course."

Nice of him to be a gentleman but…

"And what about you?"

"I don't need to…" he said with a dismissive wave.

"Sleep?" she prompted, sceptically.

"Not that often. Not as much as humans."

"You can go two weeks without sleep?" She sounded even more sceptical at that. His evasive manner didn't sell his case either.

"Well, no," he admitted, "I'd probably pass out but-"

"That settles it then," she said with a punctuating sip of the tea she was clutching. "You're bunking in with me."

He almost squirmed. "Clara, really I can-"

"It's just practical," she said lightly. "If you pass out from lack of sleep I can't drag your backside into bed. Besides it's all…creaky and creepy in here. I'll sleep better with you here."

"Oh okay then," he relented, as though he was doing her a very big favour.

She scooted closer and nudged him with her hip. "Promise to be on my best behaviour," she assured with large innocent eyes.

Almost in spite of himself he grinned.

* * *

Clara hadn't expected the nightmares to come so quickly. She'd hoped she wouldn't get them at all to be honest, still feeling the need to impress the Doctor despite his assurances that it wasn't necessary. To Clara nightmares didn't seem very impressive even if they weren't particularly surprising after what she'd seen. Very first night though and she was suddenly, sharply awake at some ridiculous o'clock in the morning. She drew a short breath and stared into the near darkness above her, feeling her heart pounding fiercely and her short fingernails digging into the thin mattress beneath her. The only light came from the faint red glow in the corridor outside seeping under the door. It hardly gave the room a soothing air.

"Clara?" came a very quiet voice from next to her, careful not to startle her further.

She'd been asleep by the time the Doctor had joined her - maybe he'd planned it like that? - and she'd woken only slightly as she felt him climb onto the bunk as carefully as possible. For a man who never seemed fully in control of all his limbs he'd managed it quiet well. Now he was curled up beside her, long legs pressing against hers through necessity.

"Sorry," she whispered back. "Did I wake you?"

He didn't answer that. "Are you all right?"

She suspected he could hear the unsteadiness of her breathing. Maybe he could even feeling the thumping of her heart. It certainly felt powerful enough. Either way she decided that there was no point trying to lie to him.

"Just a nightmare." The dismissive tone belied how very horrible it'd been. More body parts, more slaughter but this time faces she recognised. She tried to push it from her thoughts before it became too vivid again.

The Doctor shifted and she found herself gathered in his arms, much to her surprise. He pressed a kiss to her temple and let her rest her head on his chest.

"Sorry," he murmured, one hand rubbing in soothing circles on the small of her back. "Sorry you had to see that."

"Hardly your fault."

It was odd how much more comfortable he was with her in the darkness like this, touching her with gentle ease. Again, she could almost feel offended by that - was there something so off putting about her face that he couldn't do this when he could see her? At the moment though she decided that she was far too comfortable to care, settling down against him, draping a hand across his stomach. He was warm and reassuring and it allowed her to lay there in peace.

"You really do have two hearts," she murmured with a smile after a couple of moments of trying to figure out why his chest sounded so odd.

The way he hitched suggested a small laugh.

"Yes, I do."

"That's…wonderful." She wasn't sure why, but it was.

"Well it does come in handy some times."

"Nice to listen to as well."

For some reason that earned her another kiss dropped into her hair. He certainly was being affectionate tonight. It reminded her something, a phantom memory of being in her own bed and feeling a soothing stroke of his hand through her hair. Had that happened or had she imagined it? Deciding it wasn't important right now she shifted against him, getting comfortable, and drifted back into a far more peaceful sleep.

Much to her surprise, he was still holding her when she woke up several hours later. Less surprising was the fact that he had probably the most impressive bed hair she'd ever seen. How could she resist ruffling it? Especially when he had a rather adorably handsome - how was that even possible? - look on his face.

The action woke him up too ad he stirred with a long intake of breath but without a hint of sleepiness. He was clearly one of those annoying people who could just bound out of bed if they needed to. She half expected him to look suddenly uncomfortable when he saw the position they were in but he just smiled warmly, reaching to turn on the small light.

"Morning. How are you feeling?"

"Rested. Thank you."

"Good."

He became distracted, going cross eyed as he looked at a bit of fringe that was hanging down in front of his nose. He tried to blow it away - apparently preferable to letting her out of his arms just yet - and it jumped up before floating back down to settle exactly where it'd been before. Clara laughed, reaching up to move it off his face for him. And goodness did he look at her rather adoringly afterwards. Enough to make her suddenly feel a bit shy.

"Plans for today?" she asked, settling down against his chest again. A rather pointless question given their limited circumstances but…

He was stroking her back again, absently like he truly had no idea he was doing it. She tried not to sigh no matter how lovely it was; it would be very cliche of her.

"I'm going to sneak down to the engine room, see if I can improve their efficiency a little."

"Sneak?"

He looked suitably evasive. "The Captain may have said he didn't want me to."

"Which you're not going to listen to of course."

"Of course. He's just worried about me blowing them up or something. Which I won't, naturally."

"It would be rather a sad ending for us after escaping the Ice Warrior."

"And you?" he asked. "More work with the professor?"

"I said I'd give him a hand in the galley. The cook was one of the people who got…you know. They asked the professor to take over for now and he's even worse at cooking than I am."

"Really?"

She nudged him in the ribs for that.

"Well he came to ask me how the potato peeler works so…"

"So he may need your help then."

"Exactly."

She didn't get to hear his next dig at her - it was going to be something about the pair of them promising not to poison anyone since the crew so thin on the ground as it was - because his slowly wandering gaze settled on something in the room and suddenly he tensed up.

"Er…Clara? What are you wearing?"

It was a bit forward as a question, especially for him, and it made her prop herself up and look at him in askance. He nodded, slightly worriedly, towards the room's single chair; her dress was draped over the back of it.

Clara grinned. Finally escaping his embrace, she sat up, wriggling out from under the covers - she'd been sleeping under them, him on top. She was wearing one of the crew shirts, a very large one that went midway down her thighs.

"Not my ideal nightdress," she admitted, "but it's not like anything on this ship is going to fit me, is it?"

It very much seemed like she was going to be stuck in the same dress for the next couple of weeks and so she wasn't wearing it to bed too.

The Doctor - looking fairly relieved - sat up as well, frowning. "Ah, yes. Sorry about that. I should have thought. I'll see what I can do."

"What?" she teased. "You going to rig a sewing machine together out of some cutlery, stolen tubing and a spare torpedo."

He grinned. "You'd be surprised at what I can do with a bit cutlery."

Clara laughed. Okay, he was definitely being sweet. And a bit flirty? Maybe this two weeks wouldn't be so bad after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Oh well the reaction to the first part of this story was rather wonderful and awesome and a bit jaw dropping. And totally didn't make me feel like there was much pressure to get this out and do it well. :D Thanks for reading and taking the time to review/follow/favourite and do enjoy this part.**

* * *

So thinking that the two weeks stuck here might be okay after all? Yeah, bad idea. She'd clearly jinxed it.

By the end of the second proper day at sea the Doctor was definitely antsy. By the third he was a trapped ball of energy trying to find _something_ to do. By the fourth he'd slipped into being morose and by the fifth he was unbearably moody. So much so that had Clara spent every waking moment she could somewhere that _wasn't_ in his company. It wasn't so bad at night; he slept at her side peacefully - apparently boredom made him really tired - and was actually quite cuddly which definitely wasn't unpleasant. But during the day he mostly grumped around the corridors declaring everything stupid. He'd fiddled with the engines all he could, reducing their journey time from thirteen days to eleven. After that he'd run out of useful things to do - she hadn't dared suggest he make her that promised nightgown in case he really did start cannibalising parts of the sub to create a sewing machine - and so he'd started on ridiculous and pointless tasks like aligning the exact turn of every bolt to ensure they were all straight. Clara just shook her head and left him to it, making him promise not to undo anything important and accidentally drown them all.

For her part, she'd settled into a nice little routine of working in the galley. It wasn't exactly thrilling but it kept her occupied and the professor was an interesting man who was always pleasant to talk to. Made a nice change from the Doctor's moods. Okay so the professor did have a fairly lousy taste in music and he insisted upon playing it through the galley speakers, but he asked Clara lots of questions - about herself, about her family, about her travels with the Doctor - and it was nice to be able to witter away the increasingly long feeling days with idle chatter.

The supplies on the sub were pretty basic but so was Clara's cooking. Tinned ham, potatoes and veg tonight which should silence the complaints about 'soup _again_'. It also meant lots of peeling. She briefly considered asking the Doctor if he wanted to help but, she reasoned, he'd probably try using his screwdriver on them, disintegrating them or something and they'd all end up going hungry. Nope, bad idea all round; peeling vegetables didn't feel very 'him' no matter how bored he was.

"There aren't enough potatoes up here," she announced to the professor, hands on hips, having thoroughly checked all the cupboards. "Are there more down in the store?"

"I believe so, yes. The one thing we normally have an abundance of is potatoes." He didn't sound very enamoured of potatoes. Well, Clara thought, if he wanted something more exciting he'd have to learn to cook better himself.

"Right," she said brightly, "won't be long then."

He tried to argue, insisting that he should fetch them instead - chivalry or sexism, she hadn't decided - but she politely declined. She wanted to stretch her legs and it was as good as walk as she could get on a five hundred foot boat when most of it was out of bounds.

It wasn't until she'd left galley and the sounds of Duran Duran far behind that she appreciated just how quiet the sub was. Okay so there was the continual hum of the engines - which was good because it meant the Doctor hadn't broken them yet - but other than that there was an eerie stillness. The small remaining crew were all ensconced in their own working areas, making the place seem empty, and whilst Clara couldn't profess to know much about submarines, it just felt wrong somehow. Because, she supposed, it_ was_ wrong. With a full compliment of crew she expected it was far more busy and bustling down here normally. Now however it felt perilously close to a ghost ship. Which was a fairly apt description in light of recent events.

She soon came to the first of the doors marked 'storage', wondering briefly what the Russian for storage actually was and how on earth the TARDIS was still translating for her when it was thousands of miles away. She still hadn't quite got her head around the whole translation thing or how it worked and the Doctor had been terrible at explaining it. '_It makes your head read the words no matter what language they're in_' - yeah, really helpful. It might be all right for him but Clara wasn't so sure she wanted the TARDIS messing around in her head given the ship's apparent feelings towards her. Perhaps, she mused as she started to open the door, absence would make the heart grow fonder.

Or maybe not, she corrected as she stepped into the room and immediately froze with a sharp intake of breath.

Was it really fair to throw blame the ship's way though? Could she really conclude that a purposely false translation had led her in here? Probably not. After all, the room was indeed storage, it just didn't have any supplies in it right now. Instead it was housing body bags.

Considering her recent nightmares Clara knew that the sensible thing would've been to just turn and leave again but something - some morbidly curious part - made her hesitate and take a step further inside.

"Facing your fears, that's good right?" she asked the silence around her. It was good to hear something even if it was just her own voice. It grounded her.

There were a good half a dozen bodies, more than she would've expected, laid out on tables that'd once held the food, medicines and other sundries that were meant to keep these very men alive and well. Was that irony? Clara firmly tucked her hands into the pockets of her borrowed jacket as she moved closer, repressing the sudden urge to open one of the zips and take a look. It was like…when you saw a flame and you just wanted fleetingly to stick your hand in it to see how it felt; a dangerous, wild urge that should be most actively ignored.

Instead she walked slowly between the tables, trying to be logical about it. It was tragic, she told herself, but there was nothing to fear here. A small frown marred her features as she completed the full circuit of the room that she forced herself to do. It wasn't just the fact that she was surrounded by dead people that was unsettling her, something was bugging her about the look of the bags. They just looked…wrong. Not that she had any experience with body bags outside of watching crime dramas on TV. Yet still, something was off about these, she could tell.

It only took a moment more pondering for her to realise what it was; they weren't body shaped. They were…flat in the wrong places and too bulky in others. She frowned. Why would that be? Were they-

Oh.

It was because they didn't contain complete bodies. They were in parts.

She fled out the door, shutting it firmly behind her, heart pounding an awful lot harder than before. She shouldn't have gone in there. Bad, bad idea.

There was a second door marked 'storage' half a dozen feet away and this one, thankfully, contained what she'd been looking for; boxes of supplies all stacked on metal shelving. If there was some kind of method to the order she couldn't figure it out and it took her an irritating amount of time to find something marked 'potatoes', a delay that made her even more unsettled. She'd had enough of being down here alone now, she just wanted to get back to the relatively comforting galley and to the reassurance of the professor and his awful music. Of course, the box of potatoes was on a high shelf, well out of her reach. She sighed and looked around for a solution - deciding that climbing the shelves wouldn't be very clever - thankfully spotting a handy step ladder propped up against the wall. Well, at least something was going her way.

She carried it across and set it down, checking it was stable before stepping onto the first plate. Then she wobbled it purposely, checking it again. The box was probably heavy and she needed a stable footing since being crushed under a load of potatoes would be a pretty tragic way to go. That was presuming there were potatoes in there. She still hadn't entirely discounted the notion of the TARDIS mistranslating things for her and she might end up with something else falling on her head instead. Like several dozen mouse traps or something.

Could you even get mice on a submarine?

She'd only taken a further two steps up the ladder when a warm voice from behind startled her.

"Would you like me to get that for you?"

Clara shrieked - she hadn't heard anyone enter and her nerves were already firmly on edge - and gripped hold of the ladder as it teetered in the wake of her jolt.

The stranger hurried across and immediately steadied it for her. "My apologies. I didn't mean to startle you."

She had no idea who the man was. One of the crew obviously, but beyond that…He was thirties, tall, with a face darkened by stubble and a head of close cropped dark hair. Most of the rest of the crew sported the same look.

"I just didn't hear you come in," she reasoned dismissively, feeling more than a little daft for her reaction especially in the wake of his amused look. It bruised her pride.

The sailor smiled up at her and she gave him a small one back. At least, she supposed, she wasn't alone down here any more.

"Would you like me to get that for you?" he repeated, nodding at the box.

"No, thanks, it's fine." He seemed quite friendly. Did he think that she knew him? Was she supposed to know him? He was kind of looking at her like she did. Maybe he'd introduced himself before? Oh, this could be embarrassing.

"Really, it's no trouble."

"I've got it."

"It's heavy."

"I'm fine."

But he didn't listen, waving her rejection away as though it meant nothing. He pushed passed her, stretching up - he was far taller than her, tall enough to reach it with the ladder - and pulled the box out, bringing it down into his arms with ease. He must be pretty strong. He smiled at her again. "See? No trouble."

"Thanks." She kept her response short to hide her annoyance at being so soundly ignored.

Her reaction was more than that though and she couldn't deny the sudden rise of disquiet she felt. Maybe it was the encounter with the bodies leaving her on edge. Maybe it was because she was suddenly and unhelpfully recalling the Doctor's words of warning from a few days ago. Either way the fact that this man could just ignore what she said and do it anyway, that he thought he knew what she wanted better than she did, was unsettling to say the least.

'_Men trapped in a can for months at a time can start to think that very bad things are a very good idea_'. She'd dismissed it at the time as errant worry, now the more wary part of her brain was starting to seriously consider it with no encouragement at all.

She climbed down the ladder and held out her arms, trying to walk a line between pleasant but not too friendly. She didn't want to be encouraging. "I can take it now."

"No, I'll bring it back to the galley for you," the sailor insisted with what he clearly believed was easy charm.

Clara wasn't charmed. Quite the opposite. Her suddenly suspicious mind didn't like the idea of a man who seemingly refused to take 'no' for an answer.

She forced a smile this time. "I'll be fine." She still held out her arms, insistently.

The sailor smiled broadened but to Clara's eyes it seemed more calculated than natural, like he was trying to assess just the right amount allure to break through her defences. "Where I come from, we don't let beautiful ladies carry heavy things."

"And where I come from when a woman says 'no', she means 'no'!"

Her voice snapped sharply at him, tension getting the better of her. As soon as the words left her lips though, the moment they were out in the open, real and tangible, she felt daft. He was only being friendly, surely? A bit misogynistic perhaps but this was the eighties. Besides, the sailors all thought she was married, none of them would try anything. The Doctor had just put stupid thoughts in her head and they'd made her as paranoid as he was.

She sighed and was about to apologise when she saw the deep scowl on the sailor's face and the words died on her lips. Perhaps she hadn't been so daft after all.

"You are very angry," he complained bitterly. "No wonder you fit with him so well."

Clara looked at him a moment, assessing his mood. No, not best pleased at all.

"Yeah, well I'll take that as a compliment," she muttered uncomfortably, glancing around. The air had become tense and it instantly made her start to plan; if she had to get out of here quick, what was the best way of doing it? He was holding the box still which would definitely slow him. If things got really desperate she could probably hit in with the small step ladder; swing it at his midsection, knock him down…She'd be well away by the time he got up again.

Clara had travelled to the past and future, to far off distant planets and deep into the history of her own and yet here she was still having to contemplate how she might deal with creeps who had no sense of appropriate boundaries. It was a depressing thought.

The sailor's glare told her that he was clearly offended - whether by her rejecting his attentions so bluntly or by her implication that he had an ulterior motive - but she decided not to point out to him how wildly inappropriate that reaction was. She didn't want to make him any angrier. And he was angry; she could see it in the tight, controlled purse of his lips and in the way he stood with his back ramrod straight. Clara was just considering what calm words she could use to make him act reasonably - how to sound placating and not patronising without being apologetic because she really wasn't sorry - when, without warning, he thrust the box into her hands. It hit her hard enough in the stomach to shove her back a couple of paces, startling her. She had a horrible feeling that'd been his exact intention. As he advanced on her again Clara could've cursed herself for backing up until the felt the shelving behind her. It made her feel weak.

"Just remember, rude girl," he warned with a low voice, using his height to lean down over her. "You are a guest here. You and your husband. You should show us courtesies or things could be difficult for you."

Clara said nothing, physically biting the inside of her cheek to repress the response she wanted to make, knowing it might very well make things worse for her. He was just trying to intimidate her, to save face, and as much as it galled her, her best course of action was to let him get away with it. She held his gaze a moment before she looked down, silently hoping he'd walked away now and leave this unpleasant scene as nothing more than a distasteful memory. She wasn't sure what she'd do if he didn't. How could she get around him now? She should have already run when she had the chance. Would anyone hear her scream down here?

The man didn't move and a rise of fear was just climbing in her throat before he was suddenly and roughly yanked back from in front of her. Clara hadn't really considered the Doctor as a physical threat to anyone before now - his slightly befuddled limbs and slim frame belied that - but she quickly realised that he didn't need to be; he could intimidate without raising a hand. He pulled the sailor away from her easily enough yet immediately released him, letting him stumble back. Any other man might've thrown a punch but the Doctor just placed himself between Clara and the sailor, standing at his full height even in the cramped sub.

"You can threaten me all you want," he pointed out in the darkest tone. "Lay every possible omen of your impending wrath at my door." Was he belittling the man? The Doctor had surely faced far greater foes in his time. "But you don't ever,_ ever_ think about threatening those I care about."

The sailor, his bravado crumbled into nerves, opened his mouth as if to speak. Perhaps to defend himself or even to apologise. The Doctor cut him off though, having no interest in anything he had to say.

"That was your first mistake!" His voice echoed through the room like a whip crack that would've silenced bedlam. Then he paused a moment, staring at the sailor intently, utterly still once more. A man of contrasts as ever. "Don't make any more mistakes today."

The sailor contemplated it only for a moment. Looking around to Clara with a quick nod, which seemed to be a rather lame apology, he turned and hurried off.

The heaviness in the air seemed to lift as soon as he was gone and Clara let out the anxious breath she'd been holding. Then she took another deep one to calm herself. Well that'd been horrible.

"They obviously don't teach them manners in the eigh-" she began, only having a moment to bask in the flood of relief before the Doctor turned on her so sharply that it immediately silenced her too.

"What did I tell you?" he demanded crossly.

She knew he'd been in a foul mood of late but she was utterly thrown by him turning it on her so blatantly and she regarded him with wide eyed disbelief.

"Excuse me?"

"You were told to stay with the professor!" he snapped. "But, no, he said you'd come down here alone. Didn't I warn you about this?"

Okay, she didn't care who he was nor that he'd just helped her out of a potentially difficult situation, nothing gave him the right to speak to her like that. Big fancy Time Lord or not, he was talking to her like some badly behaved child and that wasn't on. The adrenaline from the previous encounter hadn't left her veins yet and it made rising to his temper easy, deeply affronted.

"I am _not_ under your command you know," she insisted fiercely. "You can't order me about!"

He looked even more cross that she had the audacity to argue back. Had he really expected anything else though?

"I can when it comes to your safety!"

He turned swiftly, marching back towards the door. But oh no, Clara would be damned if she was going to allow him to storm off feeling all self righteous and getting the last word. She dropped the box of potatoes without thinking and hurried to catch him.

"I wasn't 'unsafe'!" she shouted in his wake. "I wouldn't have even thought about it if you hadn't put the idea in my head in the first place! I wouldn't have got into that situation if _you_ hadn't made me so suspicious with your 'by the way, all sailors are rapists' speech!"

That made him stop. Perhaps it was the bluntness of her words or perhaps it was the betraying unsteady quiver in her voice; she wasn't just angry, she was upset.

"I'm trying to look after you," he reasoned morosely, temper cooled but mood not improved, shoulders hunched with tension.

"Well it feels like you're trying to control me," she said, forcing herself to hold her emotions in best she could. It wouldn't help. "_You_ made me scared. _You_ made me think I was vulnerable. Not that sailor."

"I'm doing what I need to protect you."

"By making me afraid?"

He looked back at her, expression unreadable and considered her for a very long moment. Clara would've given anything to be able to tell what he was really thinking.

"Well, if that's how you feel," he finally announced, "then perhaps once we get back to the TARDIS I should take you home."

He turned and started walking again.

Clara's eyes widened at that. Panic for a moment, then shock, then outraged. How _dare_ he?

"Oi!" she said insistently, storming after him again. "You're not doing that! You're not…blackmailing me into behaving how you want! That's not fair!"

He wouldn't stop though so she shoved passed him and stood her ground in front of him, hands on her hips to block the narrow corridor best she could. He didn't seem to know what to do - he certainly didn't want to look at her apparently but nor did he make any move to shove her aside - but when he finally turned his gaze up to hers he held it steadily.

"My ship, my rules," he reminded her in an emotionless tone.

But no, she realised with a sudden frown, not emotionless; a mask, hiding…something. This was a front. What was going on?

She didn't back down. "There's something else, isn't there?" she pushed, watching his face very carefully now for any clue. "What aren't you telling me?"

His jaw tightened but he wasn't angry. He was holding something in.

"Oh come on," she challenged, deciding that perhaps a bit of goading would get it out of him. "You're supposed to be so superior to us little humans; I thought you were better than this."

If he seemed momentarily on the verge of telling her something, he quickly decided against it. "Apparently not."

He twisted passed her, pushing her as gently out of his path as he could.

Oh great. Now he was sulking _and_ moody. Just what she needed.

Very, very fed up with this afternoon now, Clara's exasperation tipped over. "God! What is wrong with you?" she asked, throwing her hands up before reaching out to grab his wrist. "For once could you stop-"

She was going to say '_running_' but was quickly and effectively silenced by the Doctor reacting to her hand on his wrist as if she'd set off a spark. He turned swiftly and without any warning at all, his lips were on hers in a fierce kiss that she never saw coming. She dimly felt the cool metal of the corridor wall behind her, the force of him suddenly crashing into her sending them stumbling back. Not that she was in much of a state to realise or care as his mouth didn't leave hers and his body pressed closer. One of her hands was still clutching his wrist, the other hanging limply by her side but his were coordinated for once. He grabbed her waist with perfect aim, drawing her to him, leaving her caught very firmly between the wall and his chest. And his mouth…Goodness, she never would've imagined he could kiss like that. And she'd imagined it, once or twice. He kissed her like it was their last moment, like everything was about to end and he only had right now to tell her all he needed to. Her shock was quickly replaced by instinct, her free hand moving to his hair, clutching and drawing him down to her as she kissed him back with equal passion. She could taste him faintly against her lips, the warm wetness of his mouth tantalisingly close. When his tongue brushed hers she actually whimpered - damn him - causing him to graze his teeth over her bottom lip in response. It was want and desire and longing and everything she'd ever wondered if he could feel, all pressed into one insanely heady kiss. She couldn't help her small gasp in response nor the breathy murmur of his name.

It was that which made him pull back.

She could see the look in his eyes like a fire dying. He blinked as it faded out and then starred at her in shock, expression going from mortified to apologetic in a moment. He opened his mouth to say something, found no words, mumbled a completely unintelligible response and fled.

If Clara had recovered more quickly she might have followed him but she was too stunned and by the time she found the use of her feet again he was long gone.

And she was alone in the corridor once more, left with tingling lips, gasping breath and fingertips which gripped at the cold metal wall behind her as though it was the only thing keeping her upright.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Firstly, the response to this story is still a little 'omg' overwhelming. All the reviews, follows, favourites and lovely messages are so very welcome. Thank you. Secondly, that was a frankly fail filled amount of time between up dates so many apologies for that. Not only did this chapter kicked my arse, RL was a bitch and I was sick. Not the most productive combo. On the positive, the fourth (and finale part) is on its way FAR sooner than this one, I promise! Enjoy!**

* * *

On the bright side, it seemed that a really good kiss was just the ticket to stop the Doctor being so grouchy with everyone. According to the sailors that Clara overheard talking at dinner he'd been miraculously quiet all afternoon and not in the slightest bit annoying. It was declared a very pleasant change.

Unfortunately she didn't get to see any of this for herself because the Doctor was blatantly avoiding her.

In light of what'd happened, she hadn't exactly expected him to make one of usual afternoon visits - to check on her and complain bitterly about how bored he was as though she might have the solution - but she had hoped that he'd eventually come shuffling in and nervously ask to speak to her. But no, nothing. He hadn't even, as she considered far more likely, bounded in to chat to her about unrelated nonsense, pretending nothing had happened and hoping she'd do the same. Which she wouldn't have.

His absence was annoying - Clara hated leaving things hanging - but she refused to make the first move right up until he didn't show for dinner. Then she'd gone look for him, not as thoroughly as she might considering she was now quite nervous of wandering around the sub alone, but she checked all the places she knew of and he was no where to be found. There weren't exactly that many spots to hide in a submarine but he'd clearly vacated all his usual haunts and managed to find one.

She spent much of the early evening half expecting one of the crew to come in and say they'd discovered him curled up and rocking in a torpedo tube.

Okay, she decided when she heard the siren that denoted both change of shift and the official start of night on board - goodness was she beginning to hate the lack of daylight here - he was a big boy and was entitled to sulk or fret or whatever he was off doing right now, even if it was stupid. She wasn't angry at him - well, yes, she was cross that he was hiding from her but that was a different matter - and when he did finally show up she'd make sure that he knew that. Then they would talk properly, whether he liked it or not, which she had to admit was a bit of a scary prospect even for her. It was the worst part about waiting in fact; the anticipation of what she would say and how to get it just right. They needed to talk calmly this time - without the shouting or the kissing - and she needed to find out what was going through that ridiculous head of his. She understood that he was frustrated by being stuck down here but there was something else going on too and there had been for a few days even before they'd arrived. Everything about him seemed increasingly off balance of late but she'd been afraid to ask until now. Kissing might have made him scared but apparently it'd made her brave and she was determined to make that last until he showed up. Searching for him would be an exercise in futility if he really didn't want to be found but even he couldn't hide forever.

To take her mind off things, Clara decided to indulge herself with a long shower, wash away some of that uncomfortable in her own skin feeling that still lingered from her encounter earlier. Not the kiss which was more a 'cold shower please' kind of feeling - were her lips really supposed to still be tingling after this long? - no, her run in with the sailor. Even thinking about it made her feel like every inch of her needed a good scrub. Fortunately he hadn't showed his face since lunchtime either. She sincerely hoped it stayed that way for the rest of the trip.

The water in the sub never got hot, she supposed that would require too much energy, but a lukewarm shower wasn't so bad. She scrubbed her hair clean with rather blokey smelling shampoo - although she hadn't complained about that too much since they'd managed to find her some conditioner to go with it - and rubbed soap into what felt like her entire skin. Twice. It made her feel a lot better and she was almost relaxed for the first time in hours when the sound of movement caught her attention from the other side of the curtain.

The subtle, quiet movements of someone creeping around like they knew they weren't meant to be there.

Clara instantly stilled, her heart giving a little jolt as her treacherous mind went immediately to a bad place; was it the sailor? Is that why he hadn't shown up for dinner? Had he been waiting to follow her back here to finish what he'd started? There was no lock on the door, anyone could just walk in.

She should have told someone what happened, she immediately scolded herself; the professor or the captain. They might have had the man locked up. But no, she'd talked herself out of it, arguing that it was the 80s and no one here would take her seriously. A bit of sexual harassment? She'd probably be told it was her own fault for being a woman and that she should take it as a compliment.

She heard more noise, more badly concealed footsteps, and a cold rush of fear again attempted to freeze her but she battled it as she reached out slowly to turn off the shower. She tried very hard not to think about the fact that she was both naked and trapped in here.

Was there anything she could use as a weapon nearby?

Able to hear better without the running water, she cautiously peered around the curtain.

"Hello?"

She was so relieved to see that it was only the Doctor - why hadn't that been her first thought? - that she forgot to be cross with him. Even if it did look like he'd been trying to sneak in and out without her noticing; she seemed to have caught him tip toeing for the door when he'd heard the shower stop.

"Only me," he assured sheepishly, turning in her direction, gaze fixing on the wall next to her. For a moment Clara frowned - not even looking at her was just rude - but then she caught the flush on his cheeks in the ship's dim lighting and realised what he had; the last time she'd seen him they'd been kissing in a way that could easily be described as 'wanting' and now she was naked with only a thin strip of plastic curtain separating them. It even made her blush slightly although she wasn't entirely displeased that the idea of her being naked flustered him.

"Sorry," he continued, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. "I can…" He gestured towards the door.

"It's all right, I trust you. Won't be a minute."

"No, really, Clara, I should…"

She gave him one of her no nonsense looks that she usually saved for when the children were being particularly trying.

"Don't even think about walking out that door. If you do, I'm coming after you and I have nothing but a bath towel to wear right now. Do you want me wandering around this submarine in a bath towel?"

He mumbled something unintelligible but since he walked over to the bed and plonked himself down she presumed he meant 'no'.

Disappearing back behind the curtain, she reached for her towel and dried quickly before wrapping herself in it. The towels were enormous on her, probably covering more than her dress did, but she was still careful to make sure that she tucked it very securely around her body before stepping out. She didn't want to risk an accident and give him an attack in one or both of his hearts.

The Doctor was still sitting perched on the edge of the bed when she emerged, looking like a man about to face an inquisition that he was reluctantly steeling himself for. Clara on the other hand kept her demeanour perfectly calm, walking over and sitting down next to him, the dipping of the thin mattress pushing them slightly closer together than she'd intended. Her wet hair lay over her shoulders, droplets of water occasionally skimming down her skin. She saw the Doctor glance across at her, silent, thinking. His eyes inadvertently fixed upon the path a drop took down her collarbone, trickling to the center of her chest before it disappeared beneath her towel. He swiftly looked away, back to his hands that he had clasped between his knees.

Clara said nothing. After what'd happened, he was the one who should be making the first move. He'd been quite good at 'first moves' before she thought dryly.

He remained silent for what seemed like an age but she waited him out, looking at him with expectant patience until finally he glanced up at her again.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly and she was pleased to see the gentle, kind man there where she'd seen an angry one earlier. "What happened this afternoon…did he hurt you?"

It wasn't what she'd hoped they'd be talking about but it was a start.

"No," she assured. "A bit shook up maybe but…" She smiled at him. "Thanks, by the way. For helping out."

She hadn't had a chance to say that before - they'd gone straight into arguing and then kissing. Whatever his mistakes, the Doctor had only been trying to keep her safe and she couldn't be too cross at him for that.

He nodded in acceptance but didn't really smile back, still looking troubled. "I shouldn't have shouted at you."

"No," she agreed, "you shouldn't."

"I was just…"

"A grumpy sod taking it out on me?" Her suggestion held a ring of truth but was said in a way that was light, almost playful. She didn't want him feeling _that_ bad after all.

He faintly smiled although the expression didn't light his face as it normally did. "Something like that."

There was further silence but it felt more comfortable this time.

"I don't really blame you, you know?" Clara said, content to be the one to break it. "For what happened. I did freak myself out a bit and no you didn't help with that, but it was entirely that sailor's fault. He was the one acting like a complete creep."

The Doctor nodded, seeming grateful to hear that. "Did you tell anyone? Did you talk to the captain?"

"No."

"Clara…"

"What are they going to do about it? It's my word against his anyway and nothing really happened. He was just being an arse. Besides, I think he's far too frightened of you now to try something like that ever again."

She saw the Doctor flinch at that, as though the idea that he was feared was uncomfortable to him. "People have done worse things in fear of me."

"I can imagine."

Those words slid out unbidden and they clearly pained him, causing him to glance up at her in wounded surprise, his expression hurting her right back. No, she didn't want him to feel that at all. Gently, tentatively, she reached out and rested her hand on his arm. When he didn't pull it away, she stroked her thumb across the material of his jacket in comfort.

"I know you don't like being stuck here and it's made you moody," she reasoned, "but…well, that _was_ a bit scary. Especially the bit where you threatened to take me home."

She'd be lying if she said that hadn't been playing on her mind, wondering whether that kiss meant he was more or less likely to follow through with the threat. Her uncertainty showed clear and he immediately jumped to push her doubts away.

"I didn't mean it," he said with a rapid shake of his head, as though the notion that it might be true was genuinely scary to him as well. "Of course you can stay." He stilled a moment, a thought striking him. "If you want to."

She smiled gently, reassuring. "I want to. You've still got a few stars to show me after all, Chin Boy."

That made him grin at last, reaching out to squeeze her hand in something akin to relief.

"There's one or two good ones out there still, yes."

"Don't want to miss the good ones."

He looked so much happier again, his face all the better for it. Which was why it was a pity she had more to say but there was no way she was just letting this drop and be forgotten.

"Don't you think we should talk though?" she continued, prompting gently, toying with the edge of her towel. "About what happened after?"

He seemed confused for a moment and then a realisation dawned on him and he stood up rapidly, all sudden, startling nervous energy.

"Yes," he said, and for a moment she was pleasantly surprised at his compliance before it became clear he was actually completely ignoring her. "You have to stay. Of course you do. I still haven't shown you half the brilliant things I planned to yet. I have a long list."

Oh no wasn't getting away with that. He wasn't just sticking his head in the sand on this one.

"Doctor-"

"There's the dancing moons of Trillium next I think-"

"Doctor-"

"Not that they really dance of course. Complex thing to do with the refraction of the light in the atmosphere."

"Doctor-"

"Then maybe Lay-Sta IV. They do have the best breakfasts in the galaxy."

Clara stood up, hands on hips almost aghast at his ability to blatantly pretend she wasn't talking. "Doctor, I asked-"

"They say they're the best in the universe, but they're over egging themselves really."

"Okay, you need to stop ignor-"

"Ooo! Over egging! Oh that's a pun! I do like a good pun! Remind me to use that when we go there."

"If you don't-"

"So when is all right for you. I mean you'll probably want to-"

"Doctor!" Clara snapped, reaching the limits of her exasperation. She stepped into the path of his frantic pacing, laying her hands firmly on his shoulders and looked directly up at him. It turned out to be a very effective way of stopping him rambling. "You're ignoring the question here; why did you kiss me?"

He was silent for a moment, looking cornered, eyes darting as if plotting an escape route. He only answered her when he apparently didn't find one.

"That wasn't the question," he stuttered nervously. "You didn't ask it. It's not a question if you don't ask it."

She remained calm. One of them had to be. "Well I'm asking you now."

He positively squirmed in front of her. "It's not that important really is it?"

Her mouth twitched into a smile. "Actually it is a bit, yeah."

"No it's not," he insisted, emotions flicking to irritated, as though this was all her fault. "That's just you humans. You're a bit too obsessed with what you get up to with your mouths."

Clara arched an eyebrow at him. "Actually it's what your mouth was up to that I'm more interested in."

"Clara!" he scolded before realising that false outrage wasn't going to get him anywhere and he was running out of 'tricks'. "Why does it matter anyway?" he asked in exasperation, positively trapped between her and the lockers behind him. Well this was a nice reversal of roles.

"It matters, because that was an amazing kiss. And, yeah, I'm a little bit of pissed off at you about it but I still want to know. Why did you kiss me?"

He was doing a very good job at looking anywhere _but_ at her.

"Well, you know, stuff…happens and then there's things…and stuff…"

Infuriating man. Clara grabbed his chin, making him look at her.

"Doctor, why did you kiss me?"

It was a question that brooked no argument; he would answer whether he liked it or not.

He took one last wild look round. Still no magic escape route had appeared.

"I don't know!" he finally exclaimed in a rush. "It seemed like a good idea at the time!"

That made her pause, confused for a moment before her expression dropped into a frown of annoyance. He what? He'd kissed her because they were arguing and it struck him as a good idea? That was it?

In truth she wasn't really insulted more…hurt. But it was much easier to pretend to be insulted.

"Excuse me?" she demanded.

If he had any sense, he would've said something else very quickly.

He didn't.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," he repeated in an awkward mumble, apparently getting the sense she didn't like that answer but not attempting to change it.

"Oh yeah?" she said crossly, arms falling from his shoulders. "Well it wasn't, so don't do it again, okay?"

She turned huffing back towards the bed, her heart pounding in the most uncomfortable manner. Wounded but hiding it in anger.

By the time she'd sat heavily down and faced the room again he'd already fled.

* * *

He crept in like a teenager who'd missed their curfew. Clara had some experience of those - Angie was hitting that difficult age - and she'd perfected both the timing of her flicking on the light and the wilting look she now shot him from her seat on the bed.

"What time do you call this?" she asked brusquely, eyebrow raising.

The Doctor checked his watch, clearly not getting the notion of 'rhetorical question'. "Two twenty seven am," he confirmed. Then he frowned before looking somewhat hopeful. "Why what time do you think it is? Was there some kind of temporal anomaly?"

Oh he'd like that, wouldn't he? Some weird timey mystery to solve. Well tough Chin Boy, there was no squirming out of this one; they were going to talk. Again. Hopefully a with a bit more success this time. That seemed quite unlikely though considering that she was far more cross than she had been before.

"Would a temporal anomaly explain where you've been for the last four hours?"

He had the good grace to look sheepish.

"You were supposed to be asleep," he mumbled.

She huffed in disbelief. Like that made it better.

"Yeah, well I'm not." She stood - making him look rather nervous - and walked around him. He took a step away from her and she instantly took advantage of that reaction, all but rounding him up, making him back away in just the direction she wanted until his legs hit the edge of the bed and he sat back on it with a thud. "So you and me, we're going to talk."

She towered above him for once, arms folded, cross expression brooking no argument. Didn't mean he wasn't going to try though. He had a fondness for fighting impossible odds.

"I don't like talking. I'm no good with talking. Rubbish at it in fact."

She arched an eyebrow.

"Okay," he conceded, "I'm excellent at talking. Just not about…stuff." That last word was punctuated with a grimace.

"Stuff?"

His continuing grimace made him look like he was chewing a wasp. "Feely, humany stuff."

"What like the stuff you were feeling when you snogged me?"

"Yes, that stuff!" he agreed, pleased that she got it before he realised what she'd said and became more grumbly. "And don't use the 's' word. I hate that word. It's all…clumsy."

Her instinct was to retort that so was his kiss but she bit her tongue because it wouldn't have been true. It'd been anything but clumsy. It was the kiss of a man who, contrary to all previous evidence, very much knew what he was doing and it completely belied the fact that he could barely even talk about kissing without blushing. It was just another thing to confuse her about him. Okay so he was an alien and a time travel and a thousand years old, she understood that he'd be complicated. But even for the Doctor he seemed all over the place at the moment and she couldn't even tell which man was the real him.

She looked at him carefully, thoughtful, as if contemplating a route of attack.

"So," she began, expression giving nothing away, arms folded still, "what you're saying is that Time Lords are above all that 'feelings' nonsense? Is that it?"

"No!" he instantly defended. Rather quickly too. "We can feel as much, if not more, as any other species."

Well that was good. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't wondered.

"Do you like me then? "

"Of course I like you."

She rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean."

He hesitated and Clara was beginning to think that was a bad sign - that he was considering how to let her down gently - before he looked up at her again with a more open if more pained expression on his face. She didn't know what prompted such honesty, maybe her prodding really had just worn him down, but she was glad to be getting somewhere.

"It's complicated," he reasoned.

"That's a cliche."

"It's true."

"Because you're an alien and I'm human?"

He shook his head and looked at her carefully, his words slower and more considered now. "Because I'm a Time Lord and humans are brilliant and beautiful and live so brightly but far too brief."

Clara frowned at him, a bit taken aback by such a confession after all his avoidance.

"That's a lot of b-words for one sentence," she said, joking without a trace of humour. She got what he was saying though and it made a certain amount of sense. Her expression softened and she regarded him with a mixture of sympathy and questioning. "So you…don't _want_ to feel those things?"

She was trying to tread a fine line between getting him to open up to her and not being too blunt. She seemed to be doing well so far.

"I'm not _supposed_ to feel them."

"I don't think there's any 'supposed' about it," she replied with a shrug before quirking a smile. "Unless there's some ancient Time Lord 'eww, nasty humans' clause I should know about."

His returning smile was half hearted. "You'd be surprised." She was about to ask if that was meant to be a joke when he reached out for her hand, long fingers stroking over hers in a gentle caress. He didn't look up. "It's not a rule, it was a promise I made to myself," he explained. "You are lovely, Clara. And you'll be gone too soon."

He let her hand go.

Clara sat next to him hurriedly, picking his hand back up again, holding it between her own. Impulsively his fingers tried to clutch at hers as though seeking something he was afraid to have. She found encouragement in that and she wasn't going to let this moment go. Not when they were so close to…something.

"But I'm here now," she reasoned, trying not to make it sound like a plea. It wasn't, not really. She just wanted him to see sense.

He did look at her then, such a sadness in those ancient eyes of his that she almost couldn't take it. "And for how long? Do you have any idea how many people I've had to say goodbye to? How many people I've lost that I…"

It was all right. She understood why he couldn't say that word to her.

"Everything that begins has to end somewhere," she countered. "It happens to people every day. But they don't try to stop things from beginning. That would be a really sad way to live."

"I'm not sad." His current mood didn't support that but… "I'm happy as I am. Or…I'm better as I am. I don't like endings. I'd rather avoid them at all costs."

Clara was quiet a moment. She understood what he was saying, truly she did. She just happened to think that he was hurting himself in the name of protection.

"After my mum died," she began carefully, taking her time to word it right, "things were…well they were rough for dad. She was everything to him. She held him together and when she was gone…He tried to be strong, for me, and I thought he was doing okay until I came home one night and found him drinking and crying. I'd never seen him like that before; he just wasn't my dad. I didn't know what people really meant by someone being 'gutted' until then. Anyway, I had to help him to bed and keep an eye on him - got a bit worried in case he was sick and choked or something. He didn't really sleep though, he just kept talking. He was so upset and so angry at the world. He swore that he was never going to go through this again. There were a lot of night's like that and I made him go and see a grief counsellor in the end. I was trying to do exams and I could barely cope as it was. I begged him to go and he only did it for me."

The Doctor wrapped both his hands around one of hers, warm and comforting. "Losing someone you love is hard. Makes you selfish." He understood.

She nodded. "That was the advice he got actually; be selfish. Be angry and devastated. Grieve without apology. And some day, something or someone will change your mind about all those things you promised you'd never do again." She smiled as though she was only just realising it herself. "That's what living is sometimes; giving in."

The Doctor was looking at with an expression that was utterly unreadable.

"Did your dad change his mind?"

Her smile brightened. "He's getting married again next summer. Nice lady. Grows plants for the garden center."

"Must be hard for you."

"Not really. Not at all. She makes him happy."

"But she'll never be your mother."

"No and she doesn't have to be, not for him or me. She's not a replacement and she's not second best. She's just someone else that he loves and it doesn't make me think that he loves my mum any less. Besides, it's what she would've wanted."

The Doctor's head dropped. "For him not to be alone."

And he looked so sad, so lost in that moment, like he understood better than anyone what that felt like that she couldn't help but kiss him even if she wasn't sure it was the best idea. She tilted his chin up gently, her hand coming up to brush his cheek. She only had to glimpse the look in his eyes before her mind was made up and her lips surged to meet his. It was a far gentler affair than their previous kiss, a tenderness there that made her stomach tighten in delight. At first he was utterly unresponsive and she almost pulled back in disappointment before she felt his lips starting to brush hers. They were tentative and uncertain but it was like he couldn't resist. The tiniest brush of her tongue against his lips made him shiver. He tasted like impossible things and it made her pressed closer.

"Clara," he whispered, breath warm against her lips, hands still clutching hers, "I…"

"Shh…" she insisted. It clearly did him no good if he thought too much.

Unfortunately she couldn't trust his brain to remain silent for too long.

The kiss continued slowly for several more moments, long enough for Clara to feel warmth spread through her, quite unlike the heat from last time but equally as welcome. It turned into a chill as he tensed, pulling away from her abruptly.

"I can't," he mumbled, shaking his head in confusion, standing up so quickly that he hit his head on one of the low hanging pipes. He barely seemed to notice, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, not even looking at her. "I…I need to be somewhere else."

He left, stumbling his way out, catching the door frame as he went. Clara made no attempt to follow him, more worried by the expression on his face than that the fact he was feeling from their second kiss in twelve hours. He was afraid, she could see that so clearly in his eyes and it left her with a distinct fear of her own - had she just ruined everything?


End file.
